No Son Of Mine
by LysPotter
Summary: Sirius turned his back on them that fateful night after 6th year. 7 years later, he’s become less bitter. He goes back one night, the night before Halloween 1981. He has to know why. Oneshot, to Genesis’s “No Son of Mine”


**No Son of Mine**: Sirius turned his back on them that fateful night after 6th year. 7 years later, he's become less bitter. He goes back one night, the night before Halloween 1981. He has to know why. One-shot, to Genesis's "No Son of Mine"

**Disclaimer**: I DESPERATELY WISH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! But alas. No such luck.

This was intended to be present-tense, but I have occasionally slipped (despite the fact that I've checked it over about twenty times). Apologies for any tense inaccuracies. This also does not necessarily fit into canon. Sirius was a year older when he left home in this story. He was born in 1957. Hope that makes everything clear.

BREAK--**On with the story!**

Sirius stares at the huge door, contemplating the doorbell. It has been seven years. Seven years since he slipped out of the house, promising to himself never to return. Now he's back, just for answers.

It had never been easy, being a Black. When he was young, there was a way he had to behave. If he didn't…it was painful, that much he remembers vividly. When he grew older, it got harder. His father drank too much. His mother despised him. He constantly pushed her buttons, for reasons he'll never understand. But he has to know now. He has to know why they hate him.

That's why he's standing here, shivering because he doesn't have a cloak. That's why his hand is hovering over the doorbell as he debates actually pressing this button. It's less painful now, for some reason. He doesn't accept it, nor does he like it. But somehow it hurts less. Or at least, in a different way. They do say, after all, that time is a healer.

He screws up his courage and presses the doorbell. He hears the chiming sound it makes without really noticing it. He's thinking again. He's thinking about his friends. They are his family. His friends were a way to get away sometimes. Why? He doesn't know.

The door flies open in front of him, cutting off his thoughts. "Who are you? What do you want?" his mother demands distrustfully before she recognizes him. "Oh. It's you." That's all she says, looking at him like he's nothing but dirt on her shoe—no, lower than that. She moves aside slightly, though. "Come in. Tell us what you want and then you can just forget we even exist." She sneers. "Because for you, we won't."

He still hasn't said anything. He steps over the threshold into the gloomy, Dark old house. **Welcome home**, he thinks to himself as he sees the mounted house-elf heads. He follows his brooding mother silently to the sitting room.

For years he's been trying to avoid them. Any Auror assignment that could even be traced back to a Dark cousin of his parents was declined if it were at all possible. But somehow he can't get them out of his mind. He's finally made the decision. He's decided to confront his demons. He hasn't told his wife where he's gone—she would only worry anyway.

But these thoughts too are dashed from his mind as his mother points him into an ancient, mildewed chair. Obediently, he sits, facing his stiff, straight-backed parents with a backbone he didn't know he had. Augustus and Nyxa Black look back at him, their eyes pure steel. "What do you want?" Augustus demands gruffly.

Sirius leans forward just a bit. "I want to know why."

At first, neither of them seems to understand. They just watch him blankly. He sighs.

"You despise me. You can't bear to look at me. Why?"

A look of pure venom crosses his mother's face.

"Why?" she screeches. "_You _want to know_ why_?"

"Yes," he says, perfectly calm and deadly serious in the face of her mindless anger. "I did nothing to you. I was born. That's all I did, in the beginning."

"So you admit you did wrong!" Nyxa proclaims triumphantly, pouncing on his almost-admission of guilt.

"At times, I was unfair." That's all he says, leaning back now, his voice casual.

"Why?" Augustus speaks in a low, exhausted tone. "Why did we show you your place as a child and a Black? Why did we teach you exactly what it meant to be a Black in that blasted Gryffindor and a friend of Mudbloods and blood-traitors? Why did we uphold the ancient family values?" His voice builds, but never does it raise above his normal tone. "Why did we teach you what you needed to be?"

"No." Sirius looks him straight in the eye. He wants this question answered. "Why did you punish me for who I was? Why did you hurt me for my choice of friends? Why did you abuse me for forging my own path?" His voice drops to an emotionless murmur. "Why did you hold me responsible for the decision of an old hat?"

Nyxa starts up. She steps forward and slaps him across the face with all her might. "You dare!" She is fuming now, practically foaming at the mouth. "You dare spit on us, after we fed you, clothed you, raised you, taught you! You are an ungrateful shame to the Black name!" She slaps him again. He makes no move to defend himself, and his face is blank and cool. She storms out of the room with a frustrated sigh. "You deal with him, Augustus!"

It is so familiar, so typical, that Sirius actually smiles. It is a smile that holds no mirth, no happiness, only remorse, regret, and pain. Augustus flinches slightly.

"Will you?" Sirius's voice is merely interested, as if asking after a pet, or the weather.

"Will I what?" he says gruffly.

"Will you 'deal' with me?"

It is Augustus's turn to sigh and lean back. "Sirius…you're a grown man now. Nothing I say will change who you are. Who you have become."

Sirius laughs mirthlessly. "Who am I then, Father?" He smirks. "Who have I become?"

Augustus sighs again. "You are a Gryffindor, courageous and headstrong. You are a friend, loyal and true. You are a husband, loving and kind. You are a father, devoted and doting." He smiles half-heartedly. "Yes, I know." Sirius simply motions for him to continue. "But you are also a Slytherin, cunning and ambitious. You are a soldier, ruthless and cool. You are a man, calculating and cynical. You are the father of a pureblooded child. You are, in short, who I made you." Sirius looks mildly surprised.

"But there's one thing you aren't, Sirius Orion Black, of the Ancient and most Noble House of Black," he says coolly, almost apathetically. "There's one thing you haven't been since a summer evening seven years ago.

"You may be a Black, Sirius, but you're no son of mine."

Augustus rises and leaves the room. "I'm sure you can find your own way out," he says in the voice of an old man.

Silence settles on the room once he leaves, incredulous and oppressive. Sirius sits there, staring at the place where his father sat only a moment ago. He doesn't even realize there is a red handprint blossoming on his right cheek. All he can hear is his father's calm, collected, ridiculously sober voice.

"You're no son of mine." It repeats in his head like a macabre mantra. He can hear his parents arguing in the kitchen, but he ignores them as he did for sixteen years. He doesn't _really_ hear them, anyway.

He stumbles to his feet and walks to the door, as if in a trance. He passes the horrid troll-leg umbrella-holder and stops in front of the door.

The last time he was on this side of the door, he was beaten bloody and sick and tired of everything the world was doing to him, but strangely exhilarated. Now he is only barely bruised, and somehow hurts even worse than he did that horrible night.

He opens the door and steps out into the chilly October air.

Shivering, he does exactly what he did seven years prior.

He goes home to her.

He opens the door of their little cottage in the meadow. He stumbles through the door and into the living room. Meghan rushes into the room.

"Sirius!" she exclaims. "I've just got Ashley back to sleep—what happened to your face, love?"

"I went back," he says simply. That's all she needs. She understands. That's okay.

She stands there, her eyes wide. "And?"

He smiles, barely. "I may be a Black, Meghan, but I am no son of his." He remains oddly calm.

She steps forward and wraps her arms around him.

"You'll always be Sirius, and that's what truly matters."

And then she kisses him.

BREAK

**_Thirteen Years Later_**

He's standing here again. He's looking at the same huge door. He's not shivering this time—it's summer, and Moony's lent him his cloak.

He puts his hand on the doorknob and the memories come flooding back.

"_You deal with him, Augustus!"_

"_You're no son of mine."_

"_You'll always be Sirius, and that's what truly matters."_

Moony puts a hand on his shoulder. "You all right?"

"You know, Moony," he says reminiscently, "there's one thing I haven't been since a summer evening twenty years ago." He's not just saying this to Moony. It's more than that. "But you know what? That's not it, and for that I am glad." Moony doesn't understand. That's okay. He smiles humorlessly.

He opens the door and knocks over a favorite vase of his mother's. Something starts screeching immediately. His mother—or rather, her portrait.

"You're no son of mine!"

How does she know it's him?


End file.
